


Drabble Collection 02

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Genderswap, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m sorry," Seychelles said sweetly. "I didn't realise I’d been upgraded from territory to wife."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabble Collection 02

[Denmark/England - Other Uses]

 

England was suspicious by nature. He complained about pretty much everything. He was never happy, ever. Denmark couldn’t understand it. His easygoing optimism was a stark contrast with England’s tendency to always expect the worst-case scenario (and then be disappointed when it didn’t happen). It made flirting with him somewhat difficult.

Subtlety wasn’t Denmark’s forte, as Norway would readily attest to. Denmark refused to accept this as his fault (he was far too busy listening to the sound of his own awesome). It was just that subtlety (and to a lesser extent, sarcasm) went straight over his head.

And so, that left him to take a more direct approach. Denmark liked getting straight to the point. He liked speaking his mind. It was good to be upfront. It made misunderstandings easily avoidable. Unlike England, Denmark always said what he meant. That was why, bored and horny, he decided to try out his own particular form of flattery.

“You’re looking really hot today,” he said.

England narrowed his eyes. “Are you taking the piss?”

“I was being completely sincere!” It was the truth. Denmark just had to make England believe him.

“And why are you telling me this?” England asked, still mistrustful.

“Because I need a shag,” Denmark replied honestly.

“That’s not my concern.” England was starting to sound irked, but it wasn’t enough to put Denmark off. Anyway, England was blushing. He had to be at least a little bit embarrassed. Repressed people usually were when it came to discussing sex openly. It was another thing Denmark didn’t get.

“But you want to get laid too, right?” Denmark pressed. “How long has it been since you last slept with someone? Months? Decades? Centuries?” England’s blush deepened. “Oh my god, it’s like you’re a virgin all over again! Do you even remember what it’s like to be touched by another person?”

“Of course I do,” England said testily. “I’m not exactly senile!”

Try as he might, Denmark couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to spend so many years in celibacy. No wonder England drank as much as he did. It was probably one of the only things he had left to enjoy. What on earth did England do with himself these days? There was only so much baking and embroidering a person could use to pass the time with. Denmark was sure England never used to be this boring.

That was when Denmark made his decision. It was his husbandly duty to make England less dull, but more importantly, he had to remind England that there were far more interesting and satisfying things in life than cookery and needlework. Denmark didn’t mind that England was out of practise. He was perfectly willing to give him a refresher course in how to please one’s partner. England, however, seemed cautious.

“Stop grinning,” he said. “It’s disturbing.”

“It’s me being happy,” Denmark corrected. “I can’t help it if it shows on my face. That’s what happens when I’m in a good mood. I smile. You should try it. It’ll make you feel better.”

There were other things that he could think of to sweeten England’s perpetually sour mood, but Denmark didn’t give voice to any of them just yet. One step at a time, he reminded himself. That was the best way to go.

First came kissing. Denmark would have preferred it if England’s expression had been anticipatory rather than cautious, but then he knew it would take some persuading before England accepted his advances.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Denmark said confidently, noting the way England’s lips remained stubbornly turned downward. “I’ll go easy on you.”

England looked like he was about to headbutt him. Denmark hadn’t meant what he’d told England to be an insult, but that was how England took nearly everything. He really needed to be more trusting. Denmark supposed he couldn’t blame him. A lot had happened. Still, there was one thing that hadn’t changed. Denmark was, and always had been, amazing in bed, or so he liked to believe. He was positive England’s demeanour would change once he remembered this fact.

Denmark leaned in closer until their mouths were only millimetres apart, only for England to jerk back suddenly before they could meet.

“Wait,” he said, his expression uncomfortable. “I need a drink.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

Denmark grabbed his tie and yanked him in for a kiss, England making a muffled noise of surprise. He resisted initially, his fingers digging almost painfully into Denmark’s shoulders, but then he began to relax little by little under the gentle pressure of Denmark’s mouth, opening up to him just enough for Denmark’s tongue to slip inside.

“See?” Denmark told him afterwards, his grin returning full force at the way England’s cheeks were tinged with red. “That wasn’t so bad. What were you nervous for?”

England avoided Denmark’s gaze, obviously unwilling to provide an answer. Not that Denmark had been expecting one. It was cute. Denmark liked cute things. He also liked kissing. England probably did too. He’d simply forgotten how much. Indeed, their next kiss was clumsier than the ones they’d shared in the past, as England became more of a willing participant, but it didn’t take him long to start getting the hang of it again.

England’s previously uncomfortable expression made a reappearance when he was lifted off his side of the sofa and into Denmark’s lap, but Denmark proceeded to reassure him by moving onto the second stage, touching.

“Are you sure?” England asked, shifting awkwardly as Denmark untucked his shirt from his trousers. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere more... appropriate?”

“Here is fine,” Denmark replied, slipping his fingers underneath England’s shirt and running them up along his spine. “Besides, you’re hardly heavy.” Not that he would have complained about it even if England were. It felt good to have England straddling him like this. Denmark just wished he wouldn’t keep looking so insecure. “It’s not a joke. I’m not doing this to have you on.”

“I know that,” England said irritably, but he didn’t sound too convinced.

Denmark wondered if maybe he should have allowed England to have a drink after all. No, he thought. That wouldn’t have been accomplished anything. In any case, there was something definitely wrong if a person couldn’t have sex while they were sober.

England wouldn’t hide. Denmark refused to let him.

That was why he set about undressing himself, starting by shrugging out of his tee shirt. “Behold my awesome body,” he bragged, flexing his muscles. “Feel free to throw yourself at it. Don’t be so reserved. There’s no need to hold back.”

“Twat,” England snorted, pretending to be annoyed when clearly he wasn’t.

This, to Denmark, was what sex was all about. It was supposed to be fun and, well, *sexy*. And messy. If it wasn’t messy, you weren’t doing it right.

“Come on,” he said seductively, fluttering his eyelashes. “Let’s get sticky together.”

That got a laugh out of England. It was something Denmark hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. England never smiled the way he used to. He hardly ever laughed anymore, not unless he was having fun at someone else’s expense (usually France’s).

The tension had melted away. England’s hands, capable and more confident than they had been the last time they’d touched Denmark, slid over Denmark’s chest, tracing over skin and muscle and bone.

That was more like it. Slowly, surely, England was starting to get into the spirit of things. Denmark approved completely. A little encouragement went a long way. The ability to be both charming and enthusiastic helped. He really was irresistible. No wonder England had succumbed to him so easily.

Unfortunately, Denmark’s inner congratulating hadn’t gone unnoticed by England. The smug expression had probably given him away. Denmark never felt the need to hide any of his emotions. He’d never seen the point.

“What are you thinking?” England asked. He was practically radiating suspicion.

“I was thinking how brilliant I am,” Denmark told him. “And that I can’t wait to get into your pants.”

England rolled his eyes. “I should have known. It’s not like anything else ever goes through that head of yours.”

There were plenty of other things that went through Denmark’s head, but right now he was fixated on just one. As much as England seemed to enjoy it, he was in no mood for arguing.

His mouth had other uses.

 

~~

[Norway/England - Overlap]

They feel it when they touch. They taste it when they kiss. It’s different but ultimately the same, heady, intoxicating, almost overwhelming in its unrestrained form.

Magic.

It draws them close, binding them together like threads in a tapestry, like melodies in music, the songs and stories of fairytales and frozen lands, ancient myths and fields of gold.

England’s fingers trace over the lines and curves of Norway’s back, eyes closed as he takes in his scent, following the current of the power that thrums beneath Norway’s skin, the capacity that lets him see what others cannot. England’s lips tingle when he presses them against the pulse in Norway’s neck, losing himself piece by piece to it’s hypnotic beat.

Norway is warm and heavy above him, a reassuring weight, his hold on England tight and secure. He’s stronger than he looks, but then so is England. They’ve both lived long, longer than most, alike in ability as well as appearance.

Norway’s hands are clever and confident, seeking out the spots that make England arch and moan, kissing him until he can barely breathe. They slide along his sides, over his hips, down further still. England shudders in his arms, gasping and helpless, but not breaking apart, not yet.

It’s more than just a union between their bodies. It’s the mingling of their magic, the overlap of their souls, the sharing of acceptance and understanding. It’s the way Norway calls to England, the way England responds, reiteration and release.

Afterwards is when the calm takes over, the spell that they’ve woven so intricately dissipating and only silence is left. When England gradually succumbs to sleep, Norway is there to watch over him. He strokes the hair from England’s face, whispers an incantation for kind dreams and good health into his ear and seals it with a kiss.

 

~~

[America/England - Little by Little]

America was busy reading manga when he felt the chill touch of England’s toes against his ankles. Shivering, he looked to his right to find England staring at him expectantly. “Jeez, put some socks on,” America said. “Your feet are freezing.”

England moved away, an angry blush colouring his face. “It’s not like I wanted you to warm them up or anything,” he stammered. “You’re too unreliable to manage even the simplest of tasks. Some hero you are. I can’t count on you at all!”

Typical England, America thought, pretending not to be bothered when clearly he was. He’d probably spend the rest of the evening sulking over his hurt feelings if America didn’t do something, so he shifted closer to tangle his feet with England’s. “Better?”

England said nothing. He obviously hadn’t forgiven America yet.

America glanced downwards. “You have small feet,” he commented.

“They are not small,” England argued. “It’s just that yours are big, like your–”

“Like my what?”

“Like your *ego*.” England’s blush deepened. It made America snicker. “Stop laughing!”

“I can’t help it. You’re too funny.” That was what America thought, but he knew England wouldn’t agree with his opinion. He never did. It was one of the many traditions he refused to break. “You’re also bad at this being a couple thing.”

England didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned his face so America couldn’t see what kind of expression he was wearing. “I know,” he said, voice soft.

America couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t worry, there’s no rush. Take your time.” He kissed England on the cheek. “Little by little, okay?”

He had a lot to make up for, one hundred years of heartbreak included, but as England smiled shyly back at him, America knew there was nothing more worthwhile than making someone happy.

 

~~

[Seychelles/fem!England - Reward]

Seychelles was on the run. France had been stalking her ever since break time began. Even though she was faster on her feet, France had the advantage of knowing the territory. Seychelles, newly transferred, did not. It made looking for a place to hide that much more difficult.

Luckily, help was at hand. The source of it was unexpected, but Seychelles wasn’t about to complain. She’d only just finished rounding a corner on the second floor when the door to one of the after school club rooms slid open enough for England to peek around it.

“In here!” she hissed.

Seychelles slipped inside, England immediately locking the door behind her. She put a finger on her lips, indicating for Seychelles to keep quiet. Seychelles didn’t need to be told twice.

The two of them listened in silence as France came to a halt outside.

“That’s strange. Where did she disappear? I could have sworn she was here a second ago.” There was a brief pause. “Come to think of it, I’m sure I saw England around here earlier.” Then he called out loudly. “Where are you, my pigtailed princesses? Your handsome prince is here to save the day!”

England made a derisive noise. Seychelles gave her a “shh” along with a warning frown. The last thing she wanted was to get caught. France was persistent, after all. It took a lot to make him give up on something.

Eventually he left. England and Seychelles breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” Seychelles said. “You really helped me out there.”

England blushed. “I’m only doing my job as the student council president. Don’t misunderstand the situation. I wasn’t doing it for your sake. It would make me look bad if I didn’t do my duties. Besides, I can’t stand that bloody pervert. I’m seriously going to end up hurting him one of these days.”

“You may not look it, but you’re surprisingly strong. I saw the way you punched him out cold yesterday when he flipped the back of your skirt up during lunch. I was impressed.”

“I’ve done worse. I’ve broken his fingers before for trying to grope me.”

“Isn’t that going a little too far?” Seychelles asked, feeling ever so slightly sorry for France. “And where do you get all that power from? Are you like Samson? Are your eyebrows the source of your strength? Will you lose it if anything ever happens to them?”

Seychelles couldn’t help picturing an England with feminine and elegant eyebrows instead of the altogether more conspicuous ones she had in reality. In her head, this powered down version of England was far too meek and mild to resist France’s advances. Seychelles could almost hear her spouting clichéd Harlequin phrases like “we mustn’t” and, “it’s forbidden” and “please, not there”.

“Stop imagining weird things about me!” England snapped, her face almost exactly the same colour as the ribbons in Seychelles’s hair. “It’s creepy!”

Seychelles tried her hardest not to laugh at England’s embarrassment. “I’m sorry. You need to stay strong to keep France in check. Don’t ever pluck your eyebrows, okay? Natural is best.”

England "hmph'd". “You don’t have to tell me that. I would keep that idiot under control whether you wanted it or not. He’s a menace to society. He’s also going to end up in prison if I don’t kill him first.”

“He’s not that bad," said Seychelles. Then she change her mind. "Okay, he is. But he was kind to me when we were children. He would always tell me to grow up voluptuous.”

“Which part of that do you call kind? Good lord, he’ll go for anything, male or female, child or adult.”

“He told me he had a complex psychological disorder.”

“He told me he was a healthy, open-minded and open-hearted pervert.”

They sighed in unison.

“The coast seems to be clear,” Seychelles said helpfully. “I suppose that means it’s safe for us to head back out now.” She glanced over at the still-grumbling England. “But before that...”

It amused Seychelles how she had to lean down to kiss England on the cheek. She wasn’t exactly tall herself, but England was still shorter than she was. It was kind of cute.

“There you go. It’s your reward for protecting me.”

“Y-you insolent woman!” England stammered, indignant, as Seychelles ran off giggling. “You’re no better than France!”

~~

[Seychelles/England - Plus and Minus]

The student council room was one of Seychelles’s least favourite places to be on campus for obvious reasons, but this time her visit was unavoidable. The annual school culture festival was drawing close. Seychelles had been nominated to represent her class for their contribution to the event, much to her dismay. Simply getting used to daily life as a transfer student had been tough enough, now she’d found herself lumbered with extra work on top of that.

Life just wasn’t fair.

Sighing to herself, Seychelles knocked on the door once before letting herself inside. Surprisingly, England was alone. Seychelles could barely see him for the mountain of paperwork that kept him hidden from view. Only the top of his head was visible.

“I’ve come to submit the forms on behalf of the Africa class, eyebrow jerk,” Seychelles announced.

England glanced up in annoyance. “I thought I told you to address me as England-sama?”

“I’ll address you however I like, thank you very much.”

“Add it to the pile. I’ll look over it later.”

Seychelles did so, hovering uncertainly afterwards. England hadn’t dismissed her, but then he hadn’t mentioned needing anything else either. “You seem busy,” she said.

“Whatever gave you that impression?” England replied sarcastically.

Seychelles’s instinctive response was to snap something equally cutting right back at him. Instead, she held her tongue. England wasn’t exactly endearing at the best of times, but he did appear to be under a lot of pressure.

“Well,” she said, indicating the conspicuously empty chairs, “it doesn’t look like you’re receiving an awful lot of assistance. Isn’t France supposed to be your vice president?”

“He’s skiving off somewhere, as usual,” England retorted. “Even if he were around to help, he’d be about as much use as a chocolate fireguard. That stupid frog is allergic to hard work, after all. He’s probably hiding out in Spain’s room. Don’t expect to see him again until the day of the festival.”

Seychelles found herself actually feeling sorry for England at that. “You’re having to get through this all on your own?”

“It’s fine. I can manage.” England furrowed his brow. “What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you have other things to take care of?”

Seychelles responded with a scowl. She’d been doing an awful lot of that since transferring. As much as England frustrated and irritated her, she had to stop it. She would start getting wrinkles otherwise, and it would all be his fault. Reminding herself that it took fewer muscles to smile than it did to frown, she turned the downward curve of her lips to an upward one. Seychelles mentally congratulated herself on her restraint.

“Understood. I’ll leave you in peace.”

But thoughts of England refused to leave her mind even as she made her way back to the girl’s dormitory. Seychelles wondered if he was planning on pulling an all-nighter. It almost made her feel guilty for bemoaning her own troubles earlier when England’s burdens were so much heavier.

As much as she disliked the guy, Seychelles could see he was the student council president for a reason, twisted tendencies aside. His grades were the best in the school. He was reliable and responsible. He could always be counted on to get the job done. England did have some good qualities after all, as much as Seychelles hated to admit it. Sadly, his bossy and overbearing personality let him down, as did his weird and perverted behaviour. The eyebrows were also a factor.

In short, his negative points outweighed the positive ones, at least in Seychelles’ opinion.

Still, her mind continued wandering back to England while she tried to do her homework. The grumbling of her stomach some time later only served to distract her even more. Seychelles wondered if England had eaten anything yet. If she was starting to feel hungry, then he had to be, too.

She was merely being charitable, Seychelles told herself as she set about preparing sandwiches and fruit juice. She would also be fulfilling her duty to the school by making sure its president didn’t collapse of malnourishment and stress. It was very noble of her, really, and had absolutely nothing to do with being concerned on England’s behalf.

Sure enough, England was exactly where Seychelles had left him. The sun had nearly set. The room was getting dark. Seychelles doubted England had noticed.

“You’re going to ruin your eyesight if you keep this up,” she said, flicking on the light switch.

“What is it now?” England asked impatiently.

“Here.” Seychelles plonked the lunch box she’d brought for him onto his desk. “I figured you might need it.”

England regarded her with caution for a moment before opening the box. His expression became even more suspicious when he saw what was inside it. “Is this poisoned?”

“Of course not! Do you really think I hate you that much?”

“Yes,” England said bluntly.

“It’s not poisoned.” Seychelles picked out one of the sandwiches and took a nibble at the corner of it. “See? I haven’t dropped dead yet.”

England was still dubious, but he took Seychelles at her word. Seychelles waited patiently for him to praise her, or at least thank her, but England did neither. He was staring at the juice in disapproval. “You should have brought me tea,” he said. “Tea would have been better.”

“I’m sorry,” Seychelles said sweetly. “I didn't realise I’d been upgraded from territory to wife.”

England’s cheeks flooded with colour, and he stammered when he spoke. “Don’t be ridiculous. And bring some tea with you next time. If you’re going to do a job, do it properly.”

Seychelles hadn’t planned on there being a next time, but England had already turned his back on her before she could say the words out loud. Once again, her first impression of him had been proved correct. He just wasn’t cute at all.

She was about to leave when England’s voice suddenly stopped her.

“Thanks,” he muttered, the words barely audible.

“Excuse me?” Seychelles couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

England raised his voice. “I said thank you, idiot! Clean your ears out, for heaven’s sake!”

“The state of my ears has nothing to do with this! Don’t try shifting the blame. You shouldn’t have been mumbling in the first place! Can’t you at least express your gratitude with honesty and sincerity?”

“It’s not my fault you’re too gormless to realise when someone is trying to be appreciative.”

“Gormless?” Seychelles had to concentrate very hard on not losing her temper. “Wow, you really know how to sweet talk a lady. No wonder you go around calling yourself a gentleman.” She flung her hands up in defeat. “I can’t believe I was ever worried about someone like you!”

“I never asked you to worry,” England snapped.

“And I’ll be sure to never do it again!” Seychelles shot back.

She left the room in a huff. Halfway down the hall, her cell phone beeped. It was a message from England, of all people. Seychelles nearly deleted it in her anger without bothering to read it first, but she opened it anyway.

“‘I take my tea with milk and sugar, just so you know,’” she read aloud. “‘By the way, your sandwiches were so-so. And in case you didn’t hear me correctly before, thank you. Lastly, you’re still gormless.’”

This was what he called an apology? Seychelles clenched her fist.

“Ugh, that guy makes me *so* mad.”

 

~~

[France/Japan - A Cure for Nervousness]

 

France was pacing. He was also muttering under his breath. Papers were piled high in front of him. The situation, once carefully noted and analysed, required cause for concern, enough for Japan to forgo his usual reservation and speak.

“Are you all right?” he inquired.

“Do I look all right?” There were dark circles under France’s eyes. His suit was less than immaculate. This alone gave Japan reason to worry. The only people who took fashion and personal appearance more seriously than the French were Italians. To see France looking so rumpled and unkempt was unnerving. “It’s my turn to chair the next meeting, but nobody ever takes me seriously. That’s why I’ve been making so much effort this time, to prove I’m not as half-assed as they all think I am.”

Japan nodded approvingly. “Your determination and commitment is commendable. I am most impressed. Please keep up the good work.”

France regarded him thoughtfully. “You’re a smart guy. You also have a lot of common sense. Do you have any advice on how to cope with nerves?”

“Let’s see.” Japan paused to collect himself. “In this situation, it helps to write the character for person onto your palm and swallow it. I believe it is a useful way of curing stage fright.”

“Swallow a person?” France mulled that over for a moment. “Swallow... swallow...” Then he leered. “Hey, Japan. Come a little closer.”

Japan’s self defence instinct made him trade politeness in for an uncharacteristically blunt response. “The expression on your face is warning me not to. I’m afraid I must maintain my distance.”

“You shouldn’t be so uptight,” France wheedled. “I’ve thought of a better way get rid of nervousness. I promise it’ll be enjoyable. Just stay right where you are.”

“Is this truly a cure for nervousness?” Japan asked, growing more disturbed the closer France came. “Are you sure it’s not a cause of it?”

“I’m sure,” France said confidently. “I guarantee you that.”

Then he pounced.

He was faster than Japan’s honed warrior reflexes. He’d even gotten Japan’s pants and underwear down before he could turn around to escape.

“Tell me,” he purred, getting down onto his knees. “How do you write ‘person’ in Japanese?”

Japan gasped as France’ fingers went straight to his cock, teasing him to hardness. “Like so,” he answered, breathless, lifting his right hand and shakily moving his index finger to demonstrate the strokes.

“Ah, I see.” France traced the same strokes over the head of Japan’s erection, grinning up at him. “Now I swallow, right?”

“This method is technically incorrect,” Japan tried.

“But it’s more fun,” France said wickedly. “Allow me to prove it to you.” He licked his lips, lowering his head. “Bon appetite.”

~~

[France/England - Stating the Obvious]

A dress. He was wearing a sodding *dress*. And that wasn’t the worst of it. The perverted idiot had turned up on England’s doorstep expecting praise and adoration. What he got was a fist to the face.

“If you want to show off so badly, go and build another monument,” England snapped.

“Like the one you copied off me?” France teased.

“Inspired by,” England huffed. “It was most certainly not copied. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“My tower is still bigger than yours.”

“And Japan’s is bigger than yours. What’s your point?”

“My point is that I came here to have you witness my fabulously fashionable self. And because I’m feeling particularly lecherous today, of course.” Apparently, the effects of England’s earlier punch had already worn off. “Indulge me.”

England’s response was as direct and heartfelt as ever. “Die. Go to Hell. Burn there. Just get out of my sight.”

His words had even less of an effect than his the punch that he’d thrown. If anything they only served to encourage France. “You’re always so feisty. Then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“There is a table in front of me,” England pointed out. “Keep talking like that and I’ll smash it over your head.”

At least, that had been his original plan. He had not anticipated being bent over it and shagged senseless, but that was how the situation ended up playing itself out not ten minutes later.

“You’re a bastard,” England panted, hips rocking back to meet France’s.

“And you’re being topped by a man in a dress,” France reminded him. He punctuated his statement with a particularly hard thrust, one that made England moan, long and low.

“You’re still a bastard,” he managed.

“A pity,” France remarked, keeping a firm grip on England’s hip with one hand while moving his other in front to curl around his cock. “You seem to forget your many inventive swearwords whenever you’re having sex.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” England growled. “I can insult you anytime, anyplace, regardless of what I’m doing.”

France leaned down and bit the curve of England’s ear, dragging another moan from his throat. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Frog bastard,” England hissed.

France snapped his hips sharply, making England cry out.

“Wine bastard.”

France tightened his fingers around England’s cock, jerking him off quick and rough the way he liked it.

“Bearded bastard.”

“Now you’re just stating the obvious.”

England was losing himself. France could tell by the way he grew more and more incoherent. The insults had been forgotten. The only words he could grunt out now were “fuck” and “more.”

France was happy to oblige.

~~

[France/Canada - Extensive Vocabulary]

 

France had never minded having an audience before. After all, the more people he had to display his prowess to the better. There was one exception to this rule, however, and it was currently staring him with its beady eyes.

“You never told me that bear of yours likes to watch,” he said, more occupied with keeping his gaze fixed cautiously on what lay beyond Canada’s right shoulder than what Canada was doing to his neck. Any other time and he would have enjoyed the attention immensely, but right now, he could barely register Canada’s kisses.

“Kumajirou-san and I are inseparable,” Canada said. “He’s been by my side for as long as I can remember. We do everything together.”

“Even this?” France ventured.

“Hm?” Canada peered over at Kumajirou. “It’s not a problem, is it? I don’t mind. Do you?”

“Only as long as you never ask if he can join us.”

“Of course not! That would just be wrong.”

‘And letting him watch isn’t?’ France wanted to say, but Canada sounded so offended by the implication that he let the matter drop. Besides, Kumajirou wasn’t exactly the most intelligent of creatures. France had only ever heard it utter a smattering of words at the most, its two favourites being “you” and “who”.

“It’s okay with you, Kumajirou-san, isn’t it?” Canada asked the bear.

“Who?” Kumajirou asked back.

“It’s me,” Canada replied patiently. “Canada. The person who feeds and takes care of you.”

Kumajirou turned to look at France. “Who?”

“This is France-san,” Canada explained. “You remember him, right?”

Kumajirou blinked. “Fucking?”

Canada went red. “That’s a little blunt, but yes, that’s what we intend to do. You stay there and behave yourself, all right?”

It really was tragic. France couldn’t even bring himself to appreciate how fetching Canada’s blush made him look because of the way Kumajirou’s blank eyes remained fixed in his direction.

“Can’t you blindfold him?” he suggested.

“He’s afraid of the dark,” Canada said. “It would upset him.”

“But I don’t think I can do this.” France paused. “At least, not with him here. It’s disturbing.”

“Really?” Canada’s expression was surprised. “You don’t usually mind spectators.”

“This is different,” France insisted. “It’s–”

“Fellatio,” Kumajirou interrupted suddenly.

“Very good, Kumajirou-san,” Canada smiled. “Your vocabulary grows more and more extensive every day. I’m impressed. You can even speak Latin now.”

Kumajirou kept staring. France shuddered. Canada seemed to have decided that the situation had resolved itself, because he soon returned to what he’d been doing earlier.

France tried to tune out his surroundings and simply focus on the feeling of Canada’s mouth, closing his eyes and melting into his kiss. Out of sight, out of mind, he thought, as Canada gently pushed him down onto his back, but that wasn’t the case at all. Simply pretending he didn’t exist wasn’t going to make Kumajirou disappear. He was still there, still watching.

France couldn’t take it anymore.

“That bear,” he said, teeth clenched, “is the closest thing to a chastity belt you’ll ever have.”

Canada tilted his head, confused. “In what way? I don’t get it. Weren’t you going to teach me how to be a sexually active adult? You can’t back out now! That would be unfair!”

“I understand your desire to pursue such experiences,” France told him. “I felt the same when I was your age. Well, before I was your age. Long before I was your age. But that’s irrelevant. What I’m trying to say is it’s the bear or me. You can either lose your virginity or your friendship.”

“That’s an impossible choice! I can’t cast poor Kumajirou-san aside so easily!”

“Get your priorities straight!” France demanded. “It wouldn’t be forever. Can’t you manage without him for just one night?”

“But Kumajirou-san is my mascot,” Canada protested. “More importantly, he’s my best friend! He’s a–”

“Cock blocker,” Kumajirou supplied.

“Yes!” France exclaimed. “That’s exactly it!”

He’d already resigned himself. It just wasn’t going to happen. He should have gone for someone easier. He didn’t want to believe it, but the possibility was there.

This was karma. It had to be. God was punishing him for being promiscuous.

Fate could be so cruel.

~~

[Japan/England - Anticipating]

Culture shock was something Japan had grown to be familiar with since ending his days as a shut-in. Europeans in particular did the strangest things, but the most peculiar of all nations, in Japan’s opinion, was England. This was mainly down to his cooking more than anything. British dishes never failed to surprise and bewilder him.

England took pride in his deserts and had recently introduced Japan to things like jam roly-poly, scones and parkin. His newest recipe, however, was the most baffling one to date, mostly because Japan just couldn’t get his head around the concept of mixing rice with sugar, milk and cream in order to create a pudding.

“Are you sure about this, England-san?” he asked, hesitant. He understood rice. He understood pudding. What he couldn’t entertain was the thought of fusing the two of them together to form some sort of freakish hybrid. It seemed terribly wrong to him.

“Don’t worry so much,” England said. “Rice pudding is as popular as it is traditional. You like tradition, don’t you? Then you’ll also like this.”

Japan resisted the urge to start wringing his hands anxiously, instead concentrating on watching England work. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust England, because he could be a very reliable ally (especially when it came to beating up France). England scared Japan a little with his eccentricity. He tended to be very talkative. Japan often saw him having conversations with himself, but even that paled in comparison to England’s culinary skills.

Japan was, of course, much too polite to take America’s approach by telling England to his face how awful his food was. He tried to make as many vague and inoffensive responses as he could whenever he had the misfortune of sampling England’s cooking. He had been brought up to be considerate of other people’s feelings. It made England happy to hear people saying positive things, regardless of whether they meant them or not. Seeing him so pleased and flustered over receiving praise was rather cute, and Japan had always had a weakness for cute things.

Maybe that was what made him more tolerant than most, rather than his reservation. Japan enjoyed getting glimpses of England’s softer side. It was almost enough to compensate for being fed weird and wonderful things.

England certainly seemed happy at the moment as he simmered the milk and rice together before mixing in the remaining ingredients. It had a very creamy consistency, Japan noticed. It even smelled somewhat pleasant. He still wasn’t sure about what the taste would be like, but he chose to put his faith in England.

“You can eat this hot or cool,” England explained once he was finished. “It tastes better when it’s hot. You can also add jam to sweeten it further, or to simply change the colour of the pudding to pink.”

Japan nodded solemnly. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to make the dessert any sweeter than it already was, but the English apparently loved their sweets. It was why some of them took their tea with sugar. Black tea wasn’t nearly as disturbing now as it had been originally for Japan. He still preferred green tea, but a little variety was good once in a while.

England’s eyes were on Japan as he sampled his first spoonful, his expression expectant. “Well?” he urged. “Is it good?”

Surprisingly, it was. “Yes,” Japan replied, not having to twist the truth for once for fear of causing upset. “It is very good.”

England smiled in relief. “I’m glad.”

Japan smiled back. “We should also take tea when we’re finished. Darjeeling would be nice.”

“Excellent idea. I think I’ll make a nice Victoria sponge cake next time you visit.”

“That’s very kind. I’ll be sure to bring a gift with me when I arrive.”

It was nice to be able to talk like this, Japan thought, from one eloquent person to another. Not that he didn’t appreciate other company, but America’s strange and circular ramblings usually left him confused and with a headache while Greece would sometimes take slightly too long in making his laidback and spacey observations to keep Japan’s attention.

Japan shared many of England’s interests, one of them being detective dramas (and as of late Harry Potter). It was nice to have hobbies in common. The two of them were also rather passionate about gardening.

He would bring England flowers when he came to see him again, Japan decided, something subtle and elegant. England would like that. It would also probably make him smile.

And that was worth anticipating.

~~

[Hong Kong, England, China - Deja Vu]

China was annoyed. Hong Kong could tell by the way she pursed her lips.

“Has England been messing with your hair again?” she said. “Those pigtails are ridiculous. They look like bunny ears.”

Hong Kong could sort of agree. She considered bunnies to be endearing, all the more so if she could sell them on at a more expensive price than she’d bought them for, thus earning a tidy profit. They also made her think of China and the story of the rabbit in the moon (and it was making medicine, China insisted, no matter what Japan claimed, because there was no way any rabbit in its right mind would choose to pound mochi over medicine).

“Come here,” China ordered. “Let me fix you.”

She removed the bands that held Hong Kong’s pigtails in place, discarding them with an expression of mild disdain before dividing her hair evenly and fixing them into identical buns.

“There. Now you look much more traditional. Honestly, those Europeans don’t have a clue.”

Hong Kong reached up to touch her left hair bun, feeling thoughtful. “I could always cut it short.”

“Absolutely not,” China said bluntly. “You must always wear it long. It suits you better like this.”

~~

England was irritated. Hong Kong could tell by the way she furrowed her brow.

“That China,” she said, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “She’s gone and waved her influence again. Those hair buns are absurd. They look like dumplings.”

England did have a point. Hong Kong was rather fond of dumplings. They made her think of all the meals England had cooked for her in the past, beef stew in particular. The variety of British dumplings Hong Kong had been introduced to by England has a child were very different to the ones she’d been used to eating before. They were made of flour and suet and had none of the fillings Hong Kong preferred, such as vegetables and meat.

“Come here,” England commanded. “I’ll put you back to normal.”

She unravelled Hong Kong’s hair buns one by one, brushed her hair into sections and tied them up high on either side of her head into pigtails.

“There. Now you look much more ladylike. You should take after me in appearance, not China. You’ll thank me for it later.”

Hong Kong twirled the end of her right pigtail around her index finger, feeling contemplative. “I could always cut it short.”

“Absolutely not,” England said firmly. “Make sure you keep it nice and long. You wouldn’t be as pretty otherwise.”

~~

The problem with China and England (other than giving Hong Kong an eerie sense of recurring déjà vu, of course) was that they were as stubborn as each other, and surprisingly similar.

They, however, were not terribly happy when Hong Kong pointed that out to them.

“How rude!” China huffed. “We’re nothing alike!”

“That’s right!” England chimed. “Don’t lump me in with her!”

It was a clash of east and west, with Hong Kong stuck uncomfortably in the middle. The relationship between the three of them was a strange one, but Hong Kong liked England and China equally. It was just a shame they shared none of her affection for them with each other.

There had to be a way to please them both, or at least a way to get the two of them off Hong Kong’s back for a while.

Then the solution struck.

Hong Kong ignored the bickering between them, undoing one of the buns that China had forced her hair back into earlier after discovering England’s handiwork and fastening it into a pigtail.

“There,” she said, satisfied. “Now we’re all happy.”

England blinked. “That’s certainly... unique.”

Hong Kong nodded. “It’s my own style.”

China sighed. “Young people these days. I’ll never understand them.”

But thousands of teenage girls across East Asia did, causing Hong Kong’s new look to become something of an overnight trend.

China was confused but willing to let Hong Kong have her way. England was just as baffled but since she had no reason to fight with China anymore, she also let Hong Kong do as she wished. Hong Kong was content to do her own thing for once. Being temporarily more fashionable than Taiwan was just an added bonus.


End file.
